


Isn't That Right, Honeybunch?

by Yenneferrrr



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s06e15 Arcadia, F/M, Fluff, No Plot, Romance, Undercover, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yenneferrrr/pseuds/Yenneferrrr
Summary: Whatever happened during all those nights in the Petrie household?
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	Isn't That Right, Honeybunch?

**Author's Note:**

> So I got this idea from another fic I read somewhere, but I honestly can't think of the title or whoever wrote it. It's my own take on what happened during all the nights of Arcadia. Sorry for any grammar mistakes! Hope you all enjoy! I'm not sure how many chapters, but I figure one chapter for each night.

She’d never admit it to him, but she was excited to ‘play house’, as he so amusingly put it. After all the initial flirting and him pulling her so close to his side whenever someone talked to them, she found herself craving more. 

Their first night in the spacious, open house is mostly them unpacking the essentials. She hauls her suitcase up the stairs, plops it onto the bed that had only been set up hours ago by their helpful ‘movers’. 

She gets to work hanging her skirts and sweaters so they won’t wrinkle. Her more intimate pieces are at the bottom of her suitcase, and she ponders where she’ll put them. For now, she settles on organizing the bathroom. Her toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, her makeup bag, a small assortment of facial products. Skinner had warned them to pack for the long-haul, no one able to determine how long they’d be undercover. 

She’s so engrossed in her task that she doesn’t hear Mulder come in with his own bag. He sets it next to hers, but doesn’t get far when he sees the bundle of lace in her bag. It’s an invasion of privacy, he knows, and no matter how hard he wills the images of Scully wearing that… he can feel himself stiffen under his slacks, and coughs when she reappears from the bathroom.

“I left one side of the closet for you,” she says, oblivious to the fact he’s seen her sexiest pieces of lingerie. 

—

They make their way downstairs after changing out of their stale clothes. She finds him in their kitchen, rummaging around in the fridge for something to cook. The FBI had been so graciously kind to stock their refrigerator with enough food to last them a month. 

But her eyes fall particularly on a bottle of wine. Her favorite, she thinks.

“What’s on the menu tonight,” she asks, leaning back against the counter in what constituted as her pajamas; an old Georgetown University shirt and unbelievably tight, short black shorts. 

He fumbles with the groceries at seeing her in such attire; the glass jar of strawberry jam smashing into the glass jar of pesto. Her expression doesn’t change, but she knows what kind of effect this is having on him.

“Um,” he clears his throat. “Sandwiches. Something easy. Quick.” 

And holy shit, this woman was going to kill him. 

She toys with the ring around her finger as she watches him make their dinner. He’s so tense and she wonders when they switched demeanors. Barefoot, she pads back to the fridge and pulls out the bottle of wine. He turns his head and watches as she grabs two glasses out from a box somewhere.

He gives her a look filled with mischief, one that she chuckles at. They’ve done all the work they could today. She’s caught them both up to speed on the nature of their case. The sun had already gone down and the necessities were unpacked. 

What harm could it be?

“I’ve got this. You bring the food.”

And moments later, they settle on the couch together. 

“I was thinking we could pay Mike a visit tomorrow. See what he knows maybe,” she says with a mouth full of food and a glass full of wine. Her wedding ring sparkles in the dim light coming from their living room lamps, and damn does it look good on her.

“Good place to start,” he mumbles before taking another generous sip of wine from his glass. The half-empty bottle sits between them, on their coffee table. “You’ve seemed to… relax.” He motions to the way she’s lounged on their couch, her hair now pulled up into a messy pony-tail, and her cheeks flushed from the wine. “Admit it. You like it here,” he teases, finishing off the last bit of his sandwich. 

He’s almost positive the neighbors would have a stroke if they could hear the music coming from their television. He hadn’t made an effort to change the channel upon turning it on, and now Marcy Playground’s ‘Sex and Candy’ is bouncing off the walls of their suburban home. 

She lets out a long sigh, takes his empty plate and places it next to the bottle of wine.

“It’s not your typical X-File. It’s nice to not have to stay in some run-down, dirty motel for once.”

He can feel his inhibition leaving his body, thanks to the wine. She liked strong wine.

“You know what else isn’t typical?” She tilts her head to encourage him to continue. “Flinching away whenever your husband touches you.” He’s only teasing, and she knows that, but it still makes her feel guilty nonetheless. 

“You caught me off-guard,” she defends. “I’m used to you being close, Mulder… but not that close,” she says with another sip of wine. 

“Well… what do you suppose we do to get you comfortable with it,” he asks, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. She looks at him through her lashes. When did he move so close to her, she wonders. 

“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, her tongue coming out to lick her dry lips. She feels warm, fuzzy, carefree. 

“We’re married now,” he says in that husky voice, the one that absolutely drives her crazy. He’d been half-heartedly coming onto her since their neighbors had left them alone in their spacious house, but this was real. 

His hand moves from the couch to cup her cheek, and she can feel the cold metal of his wedding band against her skin. 

It’s a tricky business, she thinks, trying to remain undercover as a married couple but not giving too much away… so when the curtain is drawn, the show is over, no one asks “Are you sure they aren’t already married?”

She laughs at the thought. 

“We are,” she agrees, slowly pushing herself up, throwing one leg over his lap. He settles back into the couch now that she’s straddling him, his heart stammering in his chest. There’s nothing that could’ve ever prepared him for the moment Dana Scully was flush against his crotch. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to… practice,” she whispers, almost as if she were afraid their neighbors could hear.

His hands are unsteady against her thighs, his fingers finding bare flesh thanks to the accommodating material of her shorts, which have ridden high due to her position. She allows her eyes to close at the feel of his warm hands against her, trying to burn the sensation into her memory. 

He swears he can hear a small moan escape her perfect lips, and it’s all he needs to harden underneath her. He watches her closely, waiting for the moment she can feel him. And when she does, her eyes pop open, searching for his.

She can still smell hints of his cologne, and it’s the most hypnotizing thing. Her tongue comes out to sweep at her dry lips again, and she slowly shifts against his growing hard on. 

He moans, letting his head fall back against the pillows of the couch. 

“Scully.” Her name falls from his lips like a prayer, and she can feel a tightness in her chest as her arousal grows by the milli-second. 

“We’re married now.” The words play over in her mind, and suddenly, a wicked grin spreads across her face. She leans forward, dragging her lips closer to his ear. Her hands come up to press against his chest, on his pecs, and keep him still on the couch.

“Laura, Mulder,” she emphasizes her undercover name, and he nearly has a stroke.

He keeps his head thrown back, making her rise up onto her knees so her face is hovering above his. Eyes fluttering down to glance at his lips, she finally closes the distance between them.

It’s slow and soft. He feels like home… it feels so right, like they’ve done this a million times before. Her hands are clutching at his tight t-shirt, and when he lets his head fall forward, she follows his lead and comes to rest back on his lap. 

When she grinds against the bulge in his pants, he takes the opportunity to deepen their kiss. His tongue comes out to sweep into her mouth and it’s all over from there. She tilts her head to get a better angle, allowing more of his tongue inside her mouth, and he hums his approval. He can taste the wine and feels drunk just from kissing her. 

The heat between her legs is becoming unbearable and the friction she’s creating by rubbing herself against him is so good. She can feel how wet she is with every circle of her hips, and she wonders if he can feel it. 

“Upstairs,” she barely manages, as their lips disconnect. His mouth finds a spot low on her neck, and his hands slip under her thighs to grab ahold of her. He hoists her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his hips. 

Blindly navigating, he’s able to find the staircase, and with every step he ascends, she bounces against his erection. He looses his footing, forgets about the spiral in the staircase, and falls forward. 

She’s roughly pushed against the wall, his chest colliding with her’s, and she pulls at his hair. He bucks against her and the next word that comes from her mouth sends all the blood straight to his penis.

“Fuck.”

——

She wakes up first, in an unfamiliar room, unfamiliar bed, and with something warm and heavy thrown over her. 

Her clothes are still on, she realizes.

She can feel Mulder stir behind her and for a second, can’t decide if it’s better or worse that their clothes are still on. 

“Morning, Honeybunch,” he says with voice full of sleep. She glances at the alarm clock next to them, which reads 5:41 A.M. They’ve woken up before the alarm she set. 

Slowly, she turns in the bed, coming to face him. He doesn’t move his arm, and she’s grateful for that when the covers slip and the cold air of their room gets to her. 

“I’d ask how you slept last night, but I don’t think either of us woke up once.” He grins at her, nestling his head into the pillow. Their eyes have adjusted to the darkness of their room now, and she wants so much to just cuddle up to him and stay in the bed forever.

“What’s on the agenda for today?”

Her head is on her own pillow, mirroring Mulder. And still, he hasn’t lifted his arm from her waist. 

“Talk to Mike?”

“Breakfast first,” Mulder murmurs, his hand slipping under her shirt and splaying out against her lower back. Silently, he pushes her closer to him, and even in the dimness of their room, he sees how her eyes widen. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, enough to let her know he hasn’t forgotten about what’s happened the night before, and rolls out of the bed. “I’ll leave you the shower first.”

She props herself up with her elbow, her hair roused with sleep. She watches as he pulls his shirt over his head while walking into their shared closet. He flicks the light on and she can see the contours of his shoulder, his traps, and how low his shorts hang on his hips. 

“Mulder,” she calls out, dragging his name on her lips. It takes him a moment, but he’s walking back into the bedroom and makes his way towards her. When he’s close enough, she reaches up to grab a fistful of his shirt and drags him back down. 

She’s almost as surprised as he is when she kisses him, hard and demanding. A promise of more to come later. 

“Be careful out there, Poopyhead,” she whispers against his lips, making him chuckle.

—

“Morning.” They’re walking up Mike’s driveway, but see Win there instead. Mulder’s the first to call out. Win’s got the water hose and seems to be… tidying up.

“Oh! Oh, Rob, Laura. I'm so sorry. So, good morning. So how was your first night? Peaceful?” He nearly sprays their legs as he turns around.  
“Oh, it was wonderful. We just spooned up and fell asleep like little baby cats. Isn't that right, Honeybunch?”

“That’s right, Poopyhead.”


End file.
